Solve the Riddle
by OriksGaming
Summary: Harry's in the past. There is no 'Lord' Voldemort. However, if he expects things to be easier just because he's older and Riddle's younger, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Harry's never been one for giving up, but neither has Riddle, and as they both are forced to work together- in more ways than one- the stakes slowly change. [Time travel, Dimensional travel, fem!Riddle]
1. A Lucky Accident

**Solve the Riddle**

 **Summary** : Harry's in the past. There is no 'Lord' Voldemort. However, if Harry expects things to be easier just because he's older and Riddle's younger, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Harry's never been one for giving up, but neither has Riddle, and as they both are forced to work together- in more ways than one- the stakes slowly change. [Time travel, Dimensional travel, fem!Riddle]

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own Harry Potter, because evidently, if I did, Tom Riddle would be female and there would be quite a bit of time travel involved.

 **Chapter One: A Lucky Accident**

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 **August 8, 1949**

Harry didn't groan or stretch widely as he woke up, more than used to coming awake instantly. He slipped out of bed with as little fanfare as possible, careful not to wake his partner. The sun was just coming up over the horizon and he highly doubted that the woman would wake up, considering how late they had fallen asleep.

Not because they'd had sex for literal hours- Harry's life wasn't poorly written smut- but because they'd hooked up late. As usual, really. Parties hadn't ever been his thing, and he wouldn't go to so many if he wasn't contractually bound to.

He'd arrived in the time- 1948- a little under a year before with nothing but the clothes on his back. Well, not including his wand and a few galleons in pocket change. Along with some things that just wouldn't leave him be.

Aside from those few galleons, he'd had nothing, and so he'd decided almost immediately to find some kind of temporary job. While he'd wanted to do nothing more than to rail at the world, to teleport to some uninhabited place and scream himself hoarse, to drown himself in alcohol, he'd had enough professionalism to keep himself going, to get himself set up before he broke down. And he'd happened on dueling.

With no qualifications in this time, he'd had nothing that could possibly net him a job. Nothing but his own skills. While they couldn't earn him back his job as an auror until he managed to at least retake his NEWTs, they had been able to earn him a victory at the first dueling tournament he went to. The only reason why he hadn't retaken them already is that, apparently, if you weren't taking them as part of a school graduation, you had to schedule nine months in advance.

Which was probably why he was reminiscing so much this morning, nine months and two days after he'd arrived in the past, nine months after he'd scheduled his NEWTs.

Dueling had been an obvious choice, for a number of reasons. First, and possibly foremost, locals were cheap. Their entrance fee generally consisted of eight sickles and the grand prize was often greater than twenty five galleons. There were an astounding number of kids who wanted to try out dueling, thinking that winning in an amateur tournament would make them the next Merlin or something like that.

The second reason, one nearly as important, was his dueling skills. Calling them better than average was an understatement. Others had called them amazing, and Harry was inclined to agree. He'd worked hard for his skills and he wasn't going to downplay them just to appear modest.

There had been a lot of aspiring Dark Lords and Ladies in the wake of Voldemort's death and Harry had taken it upon himself to deal with them. He'd dueled Voldemort multiple times- despite the fact that he'd barely managed to keep up, it had been fantastic experience. And it had also given him confidence that he could beat anyone who wasn't an exceptional fighter, because, to put it bluntly, Voldemort was to Wizards what Stephen Hawking was to a Southern Hick in the states.

Kingsley had tried to talk him out of it- he could be a bit of a mother hen sometimes, really- but Harry had insisted. He'd been wallowing in his own despair and just angry at the world back then. While he'd pretended to himself that wanting to stop the the many 'bad guys' was altruistic, he'd really just been looking for people to vent his frustrations on.

And his exceptional reaction time had also greatly benefitted his dueling. Though his poor eyesight had made it difficult to see which spells were coming in time to react sometimes, even with better glasses. One of the reasons he'd never gotten into dueling before, despite somewhat enjoying the adrenaline rush of a good fight, was his bad vision. It had also ruined any chance he had of playing professional Quidditch if he'd wanted to; he hadn't been too devastated, considering that he cared much more about the flying than the game itself.

Back in his time, he'd gotten fed up with his poor vision inhibiting him about a year after Voldemort's defeat and just advertised a fairly ludicrous reward for any potions master who could create a potion to fix eyesight with little to no repercussions. He'd been able to afford it mostly because of the multitude of public appearances and advertising deals he'd been obligated to go through with while he was technically a Ministry employee. His inheritance from his parents had been a nice nest egg, but not nearly enough to entice any potions master worth their salt to take such a request and make it their foremost project.

Ultimately, he'd been presented with the completed potion a little over six months later. It had been created and brewed by a prodigal Brazilian wizard who happened to be the great grandson of Libatius Borage. Long story short, it hadn't been a problem by the time he was temporally displaced and decided to take up dueling.

And once he had started dueling, he'd won everything he entered. Harry didn't know the condition of duelists or dueling circuits in his own time, but the duelists he'd faced post-displacement had generally been in poor physical condition and far too used to being 'gentlemanly' and taking turns flinging spells. Which definitely wasn't in the rules, so Harry had abused their outdated styles and, until other people wised up, all of his fights had been ridiculously easy.

And even when they had figured out that standing in one place and yelling, "It's my turn," wasn't helping them, they still couldn't touch him. Harry was just of a higher caliber; he had exponentially more experience.

He'd been sponsored almost immediately as soon as he started entering regionals- luckily, there were at least some semi-competent duelers entering at that level- instead of locals, which pretty much solved his money issues. The only problem with that was that as he progressed in the dueling circuit, he was invited to bigger and bigger tournaments. Tournaments that inevitably had celebrations after for the victor- which was Harry in every tournament he entered. Harry had skipped the first party, but then the company he was being sponsored by- incidentally a less corrupt Daily Prophet- had pointed to a spot in his contract that stated that he needed to attend at least one afterparty for every tournament he won.

Which sucked for Harry, but there was nothing he could really do. Even though it was less corrupt, the Daily Prophet was still a newspaper and wanted positive publicity. And that was what had led to his sleeping around. Or at least the means for him to sleep around.

Harry was just glad that when he'd been sent back in time, he'd been on the outs with Ginny. Their relationship hadn't exactly been the best and they'd frequently broken up only to get back together a month later. Luckily, they'd just split up a week before he was sent back so he didn't have to feel guilty at all about sleeping with other women.

Contrary to the means, there hadn't been some long process of events that led him to actually start choosing to sleep around. It had been for one main reason, really. Harry had never really gotten into alcohol, but he wanted a way to keep his mind off of his situation, to maintain his eternal denial towards the fact that he would never see his friends again. So he slept around- sometimes it could be as much of a narcotic as alcohol and others he just did it so as to not break routine. Which seemed a bit callous even to him, even when he was in somewhat of a depression induced haze. He couldn't explain exactly why he did it on nights when he wasn't all that interested- in the mental sense; due to the fact that he was a guy, he was almost always interested physically- he just did it, without knowing why.

But that wasn't what had happened with the girl from the night before, the one that was in his bed. He'd definitely consciously chosen to sleep with her; if he only payed attention to her looks, she was a goddess. A beautiful, regal face, piercing gray-ish black eyes, midnight black hair, curves in literally all of the right places . . .

And that was where the dream ended. While she had the looks, she didn't have the brains. To put it simply, from how she'd been acting the night before, not even drunk as far as Harry could tell, she was a total ditz. Harry wasn't entirely sure how she'd passed her schooling, wherever she'd gone, and he'd been fairly surprised that his routine subtle check- of his sexual partners, medically- hadn't turned up any STDs.

If she'd had a mind to match her body, they might have had something more than a one night stand. As it was, Harry was bored of her already. She was great in bed- from a lot of experience, probably- but one night was enough for that. To date, he hadn't met anyone that he actually saw himself having a future with- which made sense, when you considered the fact that he only really slept with girls who were enamored with him- in other words, fangirls.

He'd wondered, sometimes, in the year since he'd arrived in the past, if he did it for nostalgia. Which was a really bad joke, he admitted readily- and kind of cruel to Ginny. He didn't hate Ginny for their tumultuous relationship- on the contrary, he still cared for her. But looking back on it, he realized that there'd been no love anymore. It was such a tenuous relationship and Harry suspected he'd just been following a routine- break up, sulk, vent on up and coming dark wizards, sulk, get back together, repeat steps one through five.

So occasionally, just to cheer himself up a bit, he would poke fun at parts of his life pre-time travel. Some of the things he'd done truly were ridiculous or ridiculously stupid- sometimes both- and just recounting adventures with Ron and Hermione to himself could raise his spirits more than pretty much anything else.

He tended to do that a lot- get into a routine, that is. He'd gotten particularly talented at it- shutting off his brain and doing things by rote. Which wasn't a good thing, at all, but it was the coping mechanism he'd used after the battle of Hogwarts, when he'd realized the scope of the war, all of the people Voldemort had killed, non-magical and magical alike. He'd blamed himself for it, in retrospect, for not challenging Voldemort sooner.

The logical portion of his brain told him that there was nothing he could have done and that he just would have died a fool, but the irrational, emotional part told him that he should have done more, that he was a coward and that it ended up costing thousands of people their lives. And the irrational part was stronger, mainly because he'd known many of the dead at the battle of Hogwarts specifically.

And because it was one case where he could have gone earlier and gotten roughly the same results- not that he'd known that he was a horcrux before actually dying. Although he would still have had to find the diadem and find a way to kill the snake, so he really couldn't have gone earlier, no matter how much he wished he'd ended it at the start. Hence, irrational.

But slowly, ever so slowly, he was coming to terms with his new life, his progressively less precarious situation. He was seeing it as an opportunity, to prevent some of the tragedies. He could save everyone, even if he was much too old by the time he cycled around to the present to have nearly the same relationship with all of his former friends. It was a new chance and one that he was more than ready to take.

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"Welcome. Mr. . . . Evans, was it?"

The speaker was a tall, stick-thin man with a stern countenance. He was obviously the all work, no fun type of person. The kind that Harry generally steered clear of with extreme prejudice. But he didn't really have a choice at the moment, because this was the NEWT examiner. So he'd just have to put up with the man for a little while.

"Yes," Harry told the examiner. Of course he'd used his mom's maiden name, considering that it was a fairly common muggle last name, while calling himself Potter would just bring up awkward questions.

"And you are twenty four years old?"

"Yes." He'd just turned twenty four a little over a week earlier, in fact.

"No formal education?"

"Correct." Not in this time period, at least.

"Here to take your NEWTs in Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies?"

"Yes." They were all courses he thought he could get an O in. Back in his own time, he'd eventually gotten Hermione to teach him arithmancy, mostly because he was bored, and he'd found that he enjoyed it enough to continue with the subject. Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle studies had just required brushing up. Care because his memory was far from perfect and he didn't remember many of the more obscure creatures they'd covered- and he'd missed his seventh year of school. Muggle Studies because he hadn't officially taken the class- despite his inherent knowledge of muggle affairs- and he'd needed to brush up on the situation in the current time to make sure he didn't list off future events.

"Very well then," the examiner said, setting his clipboard down on the desk in the testing room. "We will do each practical in succession before moving onto the written exams. We will begin with the Charms practical. Turn this vinegar into wine."

Harry complied, doing the spell nonverbally.

"Very good," the examiner said, making a mark on his clipboard. "Please perform a summoning charm on the pillow on the far left of the room."

Harry did wandlessly, making sure the examiner saw that his wand was pointing down by his feet and his left hand was up. He figured it wouldn't hurt to show off a bit and summoning was one of the easiest spells to do wandless anyways. The examiner looked much more interested after that.

The rest of the charms exam went much in the same fashion, the examiner asking him to do about ten more spells, all of which he completed perfectly. Some, those he was more familiar with, he completed wandlessly. The examiner was practically vibrating in his seat by the end of it.

"And for extra credit," the examiner said breathlessly. "Have you created any spells before, Mr. Evans?"

Harry nearly rolled his eyes; that was like seventy five percent of arithmancy- spell creation. Of course he'd created his own spells on the way to becoming proficient in the subject. In the end, he chose to answer with a simple, "Yes."

"Excellent," the man said, rubbing his hands together. "Would you mind showcasing a few of your original charms, then?"

"No. I wouldn't mind," Harry said, plastering a polite smile on his face. He waved his wand and glowing golden chains shot out, waving around in the air as if anticipating wrapping around a prisoner. He could do almost all of his original spells wandlessly- his greater understanding of the spells helped him with the belief aspect of the casting, the part of magic that many younger wizards and witches couldn't nail down. It wasn't a well recognized part, frequently confused with willpower, but it was something that Harry had found greatly helped with his own casting. The particular spell that he'd been attempting, however, was simply more convenient if he had the chains come out of his wand.

"May I have an explanation as to the charm's effects, Mr. Evans?" Despite the fact that he was literally bouncing up and down in his seat, the examiner still spoke in a proper, slightly stuffy manner.

"It's a modification to the incarcerous spell," Harry explained. "You could call it a transfiguration, at least the conjuration part of the spell, but the main difference between this and the incarcerous spell are the effects of the charms that are infused into the chains.

"These are chains capable of stopping an animagus transformation, whether the animagus is in human form or animal form, whether they're a human or a beetle. The chains will grow or shrink to encompass them. Of course, I can accomplish this manually, for demonstration purposes, but the chains themselves also have another of my creations, an auto-adjustment charm, created specifically so these chains can hold the most slippery of animagi."

"Amazing," the examiner breathed out. "Simply marvelous, Mr. Evans."

Harry couldn't stop a small smirk from twisting his lips. He was very proud of the completed product, considering that it had been incredibly complicated to create, as well as, for some reason, completely unprecedented. Sure, Hermione had helped him through some of the process, but he'd done most of the work on his own.

He'd suggested it once to Hermione, remembering how easily Wormtail had escaped back in their third year. She'd immediately cottoned on to the idea and insisted he do it as a project so she could 'check his progress.' He'd already completed his Arithmancy NEWT and Hermione hadn't given him a lesson in two months by that point, so he had no idea what her angle had been.

The examiner was still staring, awestruck, at the chains almost half a minute later and Harry decided that it had been long enough. He dispelled them with a wave of his wand.

"That's two charms in one," Harry said. "Do I need to do any more?"

The examiner looked wistful for a second before regaining his composure. "No, no, Mr. Evans. That should be enough; we're under time constraints, no matter how much I might wish otherwise right now. So, on to Transfiguration. Hmmm . . . how about a bird conjuring charm?"

The rest of the practicals went similarly, though he wasn't asked to showcase an original potion in the exam, most likely due to to time. He didn't feel any guilt at all, however, when he copied the eyesight correction potion as extra credit on the written exam. He'd bought the rights to it, after all, so it wasn't technically plagiarism. Especially because it didn't actually exist yet.

 **/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\**

There was a wizard waiting outside of the testing room when Harry exited, one who apparently felt the need to strike up a conversation. "Sorry, mate."

"Hmm?" Harry said, half focused on the man and half focused on what he was going to have for lunch. "For what?"

"You got Mr. Macmillan as your examiner," the man said. "He's widely thought of as the harshest there is. My condolences."

"I don't think I'll have a problem," Harry said, lips curling upwards.

"That's what they all say," the man scoffed. Then he grinned and held out his hand. "Marcus Avery."

Just then, the examiner came barreling past them. Well, it was more of a dignified speed walk, really. He stopped and turned around to face them when he registered Harry.

"Good show, Mr. Evans," he said. "Good show! I should be able to contact you about the patents soon. Await my owl."

"Will do," Harry said, holding his hand in a still wave until the examiner turned and continued on his way. Avery turned to him, looking like someone had just kicked him in the nuts. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" Avery said. A second later, he shook his head vigorously, presumably to clear it. "Ah, sorry about that. I just . . . exactly what did you do in there? Why was Macmillan talking about patents?"

"Oh, that," Harry said, turning away slightly so Avery couldn't see his smirk. "Nothing much. He just got a bit enthusiastic about a couple of my spells and my potion. Said something about them revolutionizing law enforcement. The spells, that is- not the potion. Wanted to get them all, including the potion, patented. I accepted his offer of assistance in that."

"Wait, wait, what?" Avery stuck his finger in his ear and pretended to clean it. "Did I hear that right? What kinds of new spells did you show him, exactly?"

"Sorry," Harry said, "but I don't think I'm allowed to talk about the exam in specific detail."

"So you don't want to tell me about the spells," Avery deduced. He was sharper than he acted, Harry realized. "Will you at least tell me what potion it was?"

"Ah, just a sight correction potion," Harry said. It couldn't be that difficult of a concept, right? Surely wizards had thought of something like it in the past.

"Like, general purpose sight correction?" Avery asked, suddenly bouncing on his heels.

"Yes," Harry said.

"And it works?"

Harry gave him a strange look. "Yes. I tested it on myself. My eyesight used to be crap. Now it's perfect."

"Just on yourself?" Avery asked.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. Many others had used it once he'd made it public in his time. He knew for a fact that it worked.

"Give me a second," Avery said weakly, slumping against the wall.

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging. "We're not walking or anything."

"We should be," Avery said.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I mean," Avery elaborated, "I'm supposed to guide you to your apparition test. But I got so caught up in chatting . . . and . . . yeah." He laughed sheepishly, relaxing against the wall before tensing up again almost instantly.

"Ah. Well, that's not for another forty five minutes- we've got time," Harry said. "Anyways, why do you seem so shocked by the idea of my potion?"

"Do you know how many years wizards have been trying for a potion that will correct all sight?" He seemed to be calming down but still looked and sounded slightly hysterical.

No, he didn't. This might be interesting. "Nope," Harry said, shaking his head. "I was homeschooled, so I'm not exactly caught up on modern wizarding culture."

"Forever," Avery breathed out, "is the answer you're looking for."

Huh. "Oops?"

"Oops?" Avery's laughter was slightly hysterical again. "Oops? Practically every potions master tries their hand at this at some point and you just did it successfully on a whim in your early twenties? Are you some kind of prodigy or something?"

"Not in potions," Harry said. "That's for sure."

"But you made- you made . . ." Avery trailed off, seemingly unable to find the words.

"A lucky accident, really," Harry assured him. And it apparently had been- whatever had made that prodigal Brazilian able to complete a task that had been tried for centuries, if not millennia, now seemed like the luckiest thing in existence. Especially the fact that he'd gotten results in such a short time.

"A lucky accident, he says," Avery whispered to himself, though Harry heard perfectly fine; he was right next to the man.

"Shall we be going then?" Harry asked.

"I guess we shall," Avery said. "Follow me." The man was silent for the trip, lost in thought; Harry suspected that he knew what the man was thinking about- his master.

Avery was one of the names he definitely remembered from the memory of the 1940's slug club lesson, the one which Tom stayed after to ask about horcruxes. And since that was the case, the man was probably sizing him up to see if he'd make a good Death Eater.

While that could potentially be helpful, Harry doubted he could last even a day in the Dark Lord's presence without trying his very best to murder him. So, no infiltration, for sure. Still, maybe he could figure out Tom's current location from this. If he remembered his timeline correctly, Tom was probably working at Borgin and Burkes right about now. But it would be nice to have confirmation and maybe even to find out where Tom was holing up.

"Right," Avery said after a while, coming to a halt. "Right in there. Go in and do your thing."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Yeah," Avery said. "No problem." He still looked a little out of it, but Harry put it out of his mind as he prepared himself for one of the easiest tests he'd ever taken.

 **/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\**

A woman leaned forward in her chair, facing her servant. Her face was beautiful and regal in equal measures, entrancing to the male viewer- which frequently included her 'friends.' Not that she cared about that in any sense other than that the more attractive she was, the more likely people were to follow her, or do whatever else she wanted them to, many times without her even asking.

"What was so important that you needed to call me, Avery?" She frowned. "I am rather busy at the moment; you know this. Explain yourself."

"I apologize, My Lady," Avery said, dropping to his knee and bowing his head.

"Oh, get up," she said, both amused and frustrated. While she'd first been rather gratified by the deferential respect shown to her by her 'friends,' there was such a thing as being too subservient. It had lost its luster quickly and the only thing stopping her from banning people from kneeling in front of her was the fact that it was apparently a longstanding pureblood tradition to bow to your sworn lord.

Still, it amused her to see proud purebloods prostrating themselves in front of her every day, simply because they wished to earn her favor. She, a half-blood, had control over a great deal of the influential purebloods in this society. They would never have even considered kneeling to a half blood thirteen years ago, but now, here they were in all their subservient glory.

"Yes, My Lady," Avery said. He slowly climbed to his feet.

"Explain why you asked for this audience," she said, picking at her nails in a calculated show of disinterest.

"My Lady, I was assigned to guide a test taker at the ministry today. He was taking his NEWTs and was assigned to Macmillan, the undisputed harshest grader."

"Go on," she said, waving her hand. She could tell where this was going, somewhat. Something about the wizard must be exceptional for Avery to call a meeting just for him. At the very least, this promised to be somewhat interesting.

"When he left the room, he looked deep in thought, although he responded when I said hello and introduced myself. But before he could introduce himself- I already had his name of course, since I was supposed to be guiding him- Macmillan came rushing out of the room, very fixated on something in his hands.

"When I snuck a glance, I could tell that they were the wizard's tests. That in itself was odd enough, but right after that, Macmillan told the wizard that he would owl him about patents! Patents! Multiple patents!"

"Do calm down, Marcus," she said, just barely refraining from rolling her eyes.

"Pardon, My Lady." He bowed his head for a moment before looking up again. "But you must realize-"

"I must?" she hissed, glaring suddenly. Her gray- almost black- eyes flashed red for an instant and she resisted the urge to giggle as he recoiled. Ah, scaring her minions was such a fun pastime.

"I had not intended to presume, My Lady!" Avery hastily backtracked.

"Very well," she said, once again smiling pleasantly. "Continue with your tale, then."

"After Macmillan was gone, I asked the wizard what Macmillan had been talking about. And he was so nonchalant, My Lady, when he told me that they had just been discussing patenting all of the invented spells that he had shown off during his test, presumably for extra credit. And his potion as well! His potion!"

She was about to reprimand him again when he visibly calmed himself down.

"His potion," he continued, "was a blanket eyesight correction potion. My Lady, wizards and witches have been trying to produce something along that line for millennia! And when I asked him how he had managed it, he just called it a lucky accident!"

She actually did giggle this time. Purebloods- so close minded. Of course none of them could have managed a potion like that- there wasn't a drop of ingenuity among them. Wizards could affect large body parts with potions, but any other than pure destruction or basic physical healing was beyond them when it came to smaller and more delicate organs- eyes, for example.

She could probably have devised such a potion if she was inclined to waste months of her life on it. So, it was rather impressive that the wizard hadn't had much difficulty, assuming he was telling the truth. Which he probably wasn't, if he said it was a lucky accident. Evidently, he was hiding something; whether it was important or not was yet to be determined.

"My Lady?" Avery asked, clearing seeking her opinion or approval.

"This is very interesting information," she said. "However, I don't see how this is relevant to me." She wasn't lying. While the potion he had created was undoubtedly a masterpiece, she had no need of eyesight correction and neither did any of her 'friends.'

"My Lady," Avery continued. "I asked him about the spells that he had used in the exam, but he refused to tell me. He did say that Macmillan was of the opinion that they would revolutionize law enforcement. I believe you should recruit him, My Lady, before he can assist the pathetic aurors. Of course, they still wouldn't be much more than a nuisance to you, My Lady, but all the same, you should still take preemptive measures."

"Do not tell me what to do," she hissed, smirking when he again stammered denials. "However, you have suggested a plausible course. What is this man's name?"

"Harry Evans, My Lady."

She ran a hand through her midnight black hair. Of course. Because every time things were going well, fate had to throw a wrench in her plans.

"Very good," she said, letting none of her distaste show. "You may leave, Marcus."

"Thank you, My Lady."

Avery exited the room after taking one last sweeping glance at her body, focusing more than anything else on her chest- yes, she'd known where he was looking practically the entire time, at least after she'd let him rise. While she didn't feel the indignation that most women would at this conclusion, her lips still thinned and she felt vaguely frustrated. It was the same way with the rest of her Knights. Literally all of them were men, and it showed in their complete lack of subtly as they ogled her.

No, she wasn't frustrated because they generally took to staring quite rudely and blatantly at a place men were generally not supposed to stare at- or at least not supposed to be caught staring at- on anyone but their lover, and even then, only in private. Her body was a tool to be used and if it kept all of the mindless, drooling animals in line, all the better. No, she was frustrated because it clearly showed the lack of inhibitions, intelligence, or any form of common sense in her loyal followers.

No- now was not the time to be lamenting the stupidity of her followers. Now was the time to be figuring out what to do about Harry Evans.

 **/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\l/l\**

 **A/N:** The first third of the chapter is a prologue, really, and the lack of dialogue is not indicative of the rest of the fiction. No, 'she' is not omniscient. There is a reason why she knows of Harry- I probably just gave it away by saying that- and if anyone manages to guess it- by being awesome or reading carefully- they get an invisible and intangible cookie. I left far more than enough clues.

Same goes for anyone who can guess fem!Riddle's first name. And no, this isn't an attempt to scrounge up ideas. I've already come up with it through some rather simple and logical reasoning, along with a very tiny bit of research. Anyone who can guess both gets TWO invisible and intangible cookies. Three if anyone can guess both those and the reason why Riddle 'met' Harry in the way she did- Riddle's reason, not mine.

I added that part at the end about Riddle's view on her body to show that while there are some ways that she, and even this dimension, are different from canon, in others, there's practically no noticeable difference. Like both this Riddle and canon Riddle's view of their body as a tool. Though Tom doesn't have quite the same problem with his followers in canon because many if not all of his followers are straight and not interested in pasty white, red eyed, vaguely humanoid things. Of course, there's always Bellatrix.

Harry's finally shaking off his depression, which is why he's only just starting to look for 'Tom' and into 'his' actions. Bet it'll be a shock when he realizes an . . . essential difference between here and his own time, as well as the fact that he also traveled through dimensions.

I've really got my work cut out for me, getting Riddle in a genuine relationship with Harry, getting her to a mindset where she's not just using him. But I've got a couple of ideas on how to go about it.

I will readily admit that this fiction is cliché in a couple ways, but hopefully not overly so. Clichés aren't _all_ bad. And some are fairly inevitable when writing a fanfiction with a farfetched premise and an elusive pairing.

If you enjoyed this chapter, remember to favorite and follow. If you have any specific comments, positive or negative, please review. If you have something that you don't want to waste your review on or just something you don't feel fits in a review, PM me with your concerns/questions/ideas.


	2. You've Got A Stalker

**Solve the Riddle**

Summary: Harry's in the past. There is no 'Lord' Voldemort. However, if Harry expects things to be easier just because he's older and Riddle's younger, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Harry's never been one for giving up, but neither has Riddle, and as they both are forced to work together- in more ways than one- the stakes slowly change. [Time travel, Dimensional travel, fem!Riddle]

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter because . . . I just don't, okay?

 **Chapter Two: You've Got A Stalker**

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 **August 8, 1949**

Mary Riddle snapped awake the moment she felt the loss of contact. It was something she'd trained her body to do, both to better observe people, and to make sure that no one took her off guard. She'd laid her own subtle, temporary detection wards on the way into this wizard's house the night before, though he hadn't noticed with how focused he'd been on her.

So the only threat would be from the man who had, a second ago, been sleeping next to her- not that he'd likely do anything, considering the fact that there was almost no chance he'd formed a vendetta against her, a former stranger and now sexual partner, and the fact that he hadn't seemed insane from her brief observation of him and later interactions. He'd seemed more disillusioned with life than anything, though he did an admirable job hiding it with practiced small talk and a forced smile, that, if she hadn't already deduced some things about him by then, might have actually fooled her for a short time.

She might even have been able to use that aspect of his nature, if not for the fact that he seemed to be a genuinely 'good' person; not the kind who would follow someone bent on beginning a violent revolution- pity, that. It had been fairly easy to realize when he'd excused himself from their 'conversation' to save a young girl, one who'd had a bit too much to drink, from being taken advantage of.

Mary had effectively given him up as a loss right there. She had only continued seducing him because she had already started and he was just intelligent enough that he would be suspicious if she just left after acting empty-headed and besotted for the entire night; he was also headstrong enough that he might actually attempt to find her. That would have caused problems that she didn't need or want, especially if he found her while she was displaying her 'real' personality.

She could simply have murdered him and left before anyone realized, she supposed, but that also would have caused problems. And it was an obviously bad habit to off someone causing her issues every time she had to go through with something that she didn't overly care for. Still, she could dream, couldn't she?

So she'd stuck to her original plan for the night and returned with him to his house- more specifically, his bed. It wasn't something she was unfamiliar with- not because she enjoyed sexual intercourse any more than the next person- quite the opposite, actually- but for the simple fact that it was an easy way to get information. People were generally more open with people that they had just had sex with, or even were going to have sex with, especially if they thought their partner wasn't dangerous and couldn't do anything with the information. Hence, the empty-headedness. She didn't necessarily enjoy doing the task herself, but none of her Knights were exactly suited for . . . seducing men.

However, her latest target seemed to be one of the exceptions to the rule. It wasn't that rare for someone to not be very chatty, but he was one of the people who could talk for hours without paying to the conversation at all, spewing half-truths and inconsequential information. And it had taken her nearly two hours to entice him to actually make the first move.

Which was a first for her. She may not be interested in relationships, but she knew well that she was beautiful, and that it was an extremely powerful tool. She'd considered for a while that the man wasn't interested in women, but discarded that idea fairly quickly. After all, the reason she'd chosen the approach she had was because of his habit of leaving with a different woman each time.

None of the ones vying for his attention at the club had been of the intelligent variety, which might explain his reticence towards acting on her, by the end, blatant signals. She had been playing the airhead, and he had most likely assumed that she would be like all the others, wanting a piece of him for his fame- they, most likely, were perfectly happy to stand next to him in a crowded club for anyone to notice for hours on end.

And then there had been the fact that he certainly hadn't been enjoying the party. There was no reason for him to go to each and every one of them unless he either enjoyed them or was obligated to. It was most likely the latter; as she recalled, he had spent almost exactly three hours at the party and had been somewhere else the entire time. Another reason he hadn't acted for the longest time- he knew he wouldn't be able to leave until the party was dying down.

But leave, they finally had. On their way to the bedroom, she had performed a simple medical spell, and had been surprised to find that he hadn't picked up any diseases from the many women he slept with. The sex itself was nothing amazing, though it never was for her.

He was skilled, she could easily tell that much, and any other woman would most likely have enjoyed it quite a bit. But she was . . . Mary Marvolo Riddle. She had long since accepted the fact that she didn't form emotional attachment as others did, perfectly willing to use someone no matter how 'close' she supposedly was with them.

But she didn't even have any such 'connection' with this man. He wasn't a viable pawn and they would most likely never again run across each other. He was interesting, but hardly more so than an eleven year old casting third year magic.

'Farewell, Harry Evans,' she thought. 'May we never meet again.'

Roughly eight hours later, she lamented her stupidity in tempting fate.

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 **August 15, 1949**

"Thank you," Harry told the owl as he accepted the letter. Luckily, it had come while he was eating breakfast, so he was able to slip the owl a sausage. Ever since Hedwig had died, Harry had been more thoughtful about owls, as well as their feelings and desires. This, of course, included their desire for a treat whenever they delivered mail.

While most wizards didn't put much stock in the idea that animals could be even nearly as intelligent as them, Harry was inclined to think the best of owls. It was the least he could do to honor his true first friend, the smartest owl he'd ever met. The snowy owl, who, intentionally or not- he'd always wondered- had sacrificed herself to take a killing curse meant for either him or Hagrid.

The Barn Owl hooted its thanks, before spreading its wings and flying back out through the window. Harry sighed, lost in nostalgia for a second, before looking at the envelope in his hands. Sure enough, there was his name and address.

He opened it carefully before pulling out three sheets of parchment. He began with the shortest one.

 _Mr. Evans_ , it read.

 _Your exam results are enclosed. I think you will be very happy with them- congratulations. Now, to business. We will need to meet up in order to finalize your patent forms- there are a few steps that only you can complete. Would you be opposed to meeting at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade on Wednesday, August 17 at around noon? I await your owl._

 _Yours truly, Ernest Macmillan_

Harry got up, and once he found parchment, scribbled a short note in reply along the lines of, 'Sounds good.' Of course, his reply was a little more fleshed out than that- he didn't want to offend the man who was going to help provide him with a steady source of income. Dueling was nice on that front but it also involved a lot more traveling than he'd like, as well as being more time consuming than ideal while he was focused on stopping Voldemort.

And, luckily for him, his contract with the Daily Prophet ended Wednesday.

He'd have to go to the nearest wizarding post office- probably in either Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley- to send the letter. Sometimes, it was inconvenient not having his own owl, but he refused to replace Hedwig.

Setting his reply down, he picked up the second document. It was his NEWT results. A smirk formed on his lips as he beheld the straight line of Os and nothing else. Ah, if only Hermione could see him now. Of course, that wiped the smirk off his face, as he took a moment to mourn the effective loss of his friends- or, possibly, his loss, from their point of view.

The third piece of paper turned out to just be a standard letter explaining the different letter grades and telling him that he'd completed his NEWTs. The kind of thing he'd gotten with his OWLs back in his own time. Of course, that brought back the nostalgia and regret.

Though he might be throwing off his funk, he was far from alright.

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Marcus nursed his butterbeer, listening to the conversation in the booth behind him. Evans and Macmillan had actually gotten to business fairly quickly.

He hadn't been ordered to continue spying on Evans- he was doing this of his own volition. Certainly, he himself was somewhat interested in the mystery that was Harry Evans, but that wasn't his actual reasoning either.

He had seen the spark of interest in the Dark Lady's eyes. She was an expert at hiding practically all of her tells, but her eyes often gave away when she was interested or angry. Granted, the way they showed her anger was mostly by turning red, a rather blatant signal.

On that note, the Dark Lady's mood had been becoming more mercurial lately. He, or someone else, might have asked about it, except for the fact that she actually was, well . . . getting more mercurial. She didn't have the same patience for questions that she used to.

He shuddered in his seat as he recalled Lestrange's screams. His fellow long-time inner circle member had dared to ask, loudly, why their master was still sitting on her ass and refusing to take action against the stupid mudbloods littering their society. He hadn't stated it quite so bluntly, but everyone, especially the Dark Lady, had divined his meaning easily enough. Her eyes had narrowed and she had ordered everyone but Lestrange out of the room. In Lestrange's case . . . it obviously hadn't gone well for him.

The Dark Lady's frequent mood swings were worrying. He might have tried to leave- he hadn't signed up to be the lackey to a madwoman- but . . .

He grimaced, rubbing at his arm. Ever since they had taken her mark, she had owned them- they might as well be house elves. Certainly, there were those who still held onto the illusion of free will, but Marcus knew better.

The mark could be used to cause pain as great as the Cruciatus. That wasn't just speculation- it was testimony, straight from Lestrange, who insisted that the Dark Lady hadn't even taken out her wand or said any spells before he'd begun screaming and his world had melted away. Lestrange hadn't managed to get rid of the tremors for over a day. Marcus preferred not to pretend; they were slaves and Riddle was the master. Nothing they could do but cringe and bear it.

And that was why he was trailing Evans. He'd seen his master's interest, and he knew well that she kept favorites. While they could change as easily as her moods, she was more likely to hold back on punishing someone who she saw as more valuable; she wasn't that far gone yet, though she might be sometime soon if her madness continued to progress.

If he managed to provide her essential information on this new player, he could guarantee his own immunity for a time. And he wasn't exactly looking forward to experiencing a pain like the one Lestrange had described. It would most likely happen at some point- no one could retain their master's favor forever, especially considering her new mood swings- but the longer he could hold it off, the better.

Done with his musing, he focused on Evans and Macmillan's conversation again.

"-entirely up to me. Why, if it were, I would have your patents filed by tomorrow morning. However, it's up to the patent office, which is rather swamped." Macmillan was still going on about something to do with patents, so he apparently hadn't missed much.

"And why is that?" Evans asked. "There aren't hundreds of thousands of known spells, so I doubt even a patent a day generally goes through." Marcus agreed.

"You'd be correct in your doubt, Mr. Evans," Macmillan said. "You see, while there's generally nothing of value among them, the patent office gets tens, if not hundreds, of patent applications submitted each day. Young wizards who want to be the next Prince of Enchanters; you know how it is." That made sense.

"That makes sense," Evans said. "So how long do you estimate that it's going to take?"

"That's a tricky question," Macmillan said. "It could take as little as three days or as much as two weeks."

"And is there any way to shorten the time?" Evans asked. "I'm not necessarily antsy, but it would be convenient to have this done and over with."

"Only if you were willing to see the Minister about it, I'm afraid." Macmillan definitely sounded amused. "And that can take anywhere from ten minutes after scheduling an appointment to months later, depending on your status. Pardon me for saying this, but half-bloods such as yourself simply aren't prioritized much, especially over old pureblood families."

"No offense taken," Evans said, sounding far too cheerful for someone who had just been reminded of his lesser blood status. "It's what I expected, really. It's how all governments work, in my experience. Do you think the minister would see me immediately if she knew who I was?"

"Knew who you were?" Macmillan asked, sounding as confused as Marcus was- very much so. "And why would that matter, exactly?"

Evans sighed. "Harry Evans. You know? I won the European Dueling Championship. Would that title get me an audience?" That was enlightening- certainly information his master would be interested in. Marcus found himself smirking.

"Perhaps," Macmillan said, sounding impressed, "But perhaps not. With the last Minister, Moon, it would have changed everything. But that would mostly have been because for most of his term, the government had a distinct lack of skilled fighters, and he had a lot of respect for duelists.

"Our new Minister? There's been no conflict so far while she's been in office, so while you most likely wouldn't be sidelined for months, I do not believe it would be worth it to schedule an appointment simply for your patents. Especially because you claim that their success is not urgent."

"I appreciate the information and assistance, Mr. Macmillan," Evans said.

"Oh, call me Ernest," Macmillan said. Marcus felt his mouth drop open. Macmillan- that Macmillan?- stick fifty feet up his ass Macmillan, stuffiest pureblood scion around, had just given a half-blood permission to use his first name? What was the world coming to?

"I'll do that," Evans said, and there was silence for a moment, presumably while the two men shook hands. "And thank you for all of your assistance with the forms as well. I doubt I would have had the patience to go through the majority of them."

"Think nothing of it."

'Okay,' Marcus thought. 'Marcus, you've stumbled into another universe. This isn't all bad, though. Maybe Riddle's still mostly sane here?' Because Riddle had never been completely sane- no one willing to wage a war, or even plan to wage one, against the Ministry of Magic could be completely sane.

He shook his head to clear the delusional thoughts, leaving the cost of his drink, as well as a hefty tip, on the table. It was the least he could do, since the bar had provided him the means to gain access to such intriguing information, information that could possibly be his saving grace when it came to his master.

"You can expect a ministry owl sometime in the near future," Macmillan said. "Good day, Mr. Evans."

"Good day, Ernest," Evans said, with a hardly noticeable pause just before he said Macmillan's first name. "You can call me Harry in the future."

And Macmillan didn't say no- he was actually going to be completely on a first name basis with a half-blood. Marcus felt faint and seriously considered, for a second, going home, getting a good night's rest, and hoping that the world was right again when he woke up.

But, no. He still had his self-assigned task. He needed to follow Evans and procure all the information that he could. Anything that could interest his master, he would need to know.

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Harry sighed when his standard revealing spells showed that Avery was still tracking him. Had he really interested Voldemort by doing fairly well on his NEWTs? That was ridiculous, but he couldn't think of anything else that could have done it.

It couldn't be personal acquaintance. He still remembered Tom Riddle's face vividly, before, after, and during his appearance changing dark magic overdose. He would have recognized him in any crowd, instantly.

Could it have been one of the women he'd slept with? No, Harry was fairly sure that Riddle's first iteration Death Eaters had all been male. He couldn't be completely certain, however, and that was a nasty thought.

While there had been some attractive female Death Eaters in his own time- Narcissa Malfoy- who he normally would have been absolutely fine with bedding, all of them- Narcissa Malfoy- had slept with a slimy pureblood ponce, possibly even multiple times, and Harry wouldn't have wanted to infect himself with ponce-itis.

So he could only hope that if any female Death Eaters- if there were any at this point- had slept with him, they'd been unmarried. Which wasn't likely, actually, considering that as far as Harry knew, it was pureblood tradition to remain a virgin until their wedding night- for the women at least. The men were allowed to sleep around all they wanted and no one could call them out on it, least of all their wives.

He shuddered and decided to stop that train of thought before it got any further. There was no point thinking about what-ifs, especially if they were in the past and he really didn't wish for them to be true.

Well, he could at least test the competence of Voldemort's current followers, if only to pass the time. He removed both tracking spells that Avery had placed on him in the same moment. An instant later, he apparated to Diagon Alley. He sighed with a combination of relief and boredom when Avery didn't follow.

Of course Avery wouldn't know his homemade charm, a subtle one which would only be noticeable to the strongest and most specific revealing spells because it remained dormant until the exact instant someone began an apparition. To Harry's surprise, it hadn't been overly difficult to design, and he'd actually been able to basically modify the already fairly widely known- amongst Ministry employees- apparition ward, mostly because of the effect of the ward; it was able to essentially block off whatever pathway wizards and witches used for apparition.

Harry had been able to simply build on a basic tracking spell, making it completely dormant until a wizard tried to enter the specified apparition dimensional pathway- or whatever it was. Harry wouldn't have had the slightest idea how to go about it if he'd been forced to calculate the dimension from scratch. Or whatever he would have had to do- he still didn't know and was glad he hadn't needed to. Whoever had created the original ward, or even apparition itself, had been a bloody genius, no doubt about it.

The spell, while certainly a game changer for law enforcement, wasn't one he'd ever give away. He'd never had a good experience involving the ministry being able to track him. Though, given time, he could probably develop another method of transportation and be safe from his own method . . . he just didn't want to. It would be a hassle and his end product probably wouldn't be nearly as easy, quick, or convenient as actual apparition.

He'd created it mostly because of the limits of anti-apparition wards. Unless he put a good chunk of effort into setting up and maintaining the ward, anyone with a decent grasp of magic could just power through. It wasn't like he'd ever had the time to set up long term wards rivaling the strength of Hogwarts when he was chasing dark wizards and witches. So a simple solution was to slip one of his trackers in during the duel, and to then trace his opponent when they inevitably tried to flee. Easy-peasy. A completely unnoticeable expenditure of effort for wildly effective results- his favorite kind of spell.

So of course Avery wouldn't know it- no one knew it, or even of it, in his own time, including Ron and Hermione, so why would someone he was hardly acquainted with in this time know it? Still, he felt a bit disappointed that he had nothing to do on his way to Gringotts.

He'd long since accepted the fact that he was a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Not nearly to the extent where he'd be challenging anyone he thought was remotely powerful to a fight. But he would hardly ever say no to a bit of non-lethal excitement, or a fast paced duel.

Especially since there was nothing to occupy him in this time other than his dueling tournaments. Any books he'd acquired a taste for wouldn't be released for a number of decades, it wasn't possible to speak with any of his friends, and the brooms in 1949 were total crap. It was rather depressing, overall.

He did finally quit sulking when he reached Gringotts. It was hard to remain distracted when he was in the bank. He would always be on edge, his subconscious memories telling him that the bank wasn't safe, that the goblins would find him out and capture him and his friends.

When he got to the teller, he didn't bother to learn the goblin's name, or even their gender. For two reasons, really. Goblins weren't fans of wizards in general and addressing them by their name or attempting polite conversation would only earn a nasty glare. Also, because Harry just had bad memories associated with them. He wasn't bigoted against goblins, and he absolutely accepted the fact that they were at least around as intelligent as wizards and it was wrong to restrict them from equality.

At the same time, he acknowledged that they were vicious little blighters who would renege on an agreement at the first opportunity to acquire something they wanted. He also acknowledged that, if they were granted the right to use wands, there would be no more wizarding world at all shortly after. And he just plain didn't enjoy their company, influenced by far too many memories of goblins, torches, and dragons. As well as their predominantly prickly attitude towards humans in general.

And no, his opinion of them hadn't been affected in the slightest by Griphook! Okay, maybe a tiny bit. Actually, a lot. Fine, his judgement had been entirely affected by Griphook. Before he was seventeen, he'd been neutral towards goblins, possibly harboring a mix of frustration and pity towards them.

After Griphook, that pity had been wiped away, leaving him with just his frustration. He knew, rationally, that it wasn't the right thing to do, judging their race as a whole by the actions of one goblin. He knew, rationally, that Griphook could be an outlier and he had no way of knowing- though judging by what he'd heard from Bill on many occasions, Griphook was the norm.

Long story short, he had no desire and no reason to suck up to the goblins, and he no longer held the pity that many muggle-raised did towards them. He wouldn't discriminate against them, but he preferred remaining silent to talking with them. It was a simple stance, one that he'd never found a reason to change.

And it wasn't as if any goblin was ever going to insist he participate in idle chitchat with them. Wizards would actually reach the moon on brooms before that happened.

So, the end result of his stance and his evidently correct assumption that his guide wouldn't insist on small talk was an extraordinarily quick and smooth trip to and from his vault.

He spent over an hour just window shopping before deciding not to buy anything and heading to the Leaky Cauldron for a late lunch.

From there, he headed to the Ministry via the visitor's entrance to file the patents. To his complete lack of surprise, Avery once again began following him. It made sense that Avery had been there of course, considering that he apparently worked at the ministry.

Harry decided that it was best not to dwell on his newly acquired hanger-on. He handed in the patent forms, which were then placed on a ridiculously high stack of paper. It was one thing to hear Macmillan say it, and it was another to see the number of failed patents that were turned in on an average day. A glance at the top of the pile- before his papers got stacked on top- showed a patent for the summoning charm- yes, that summoning charm. The commonly used and widely known one. The one taught in pretty much every charms curriculum.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. This wasn't the first time he'd lamented the stupidity of the average magic user, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

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"And what is your excuse this time?" Mary asked her 'friend.' "I recall informing you that I am rather busy at the moment."

"And I promise this won't be a waste of your time, My Lady." Avery seemed excited. That . . . wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Very well. Proceed, Marcus."

"It's about Evans, My Lady." Of course it was. It was all that he had been thinking about since he had entered Lestrange's manor, her current base of operations. "I trailed Macmillan today, to a meeting that he had with Evans at the three broomsticks."

"Did I ask you to trail Evans?" Mary asked, voice soft. "Did I ask you to risk your cover for an insignificant half-blood who I had already said that I would deal with?"

"No, My Lady, but-"

She cut him off. "Then you should not have done so. There is a reason that I am in charge of the strategic decisions here." And now he was thinking to the mark on his arm, cursing in his head about how that was the only reason she was still in charge. It was amusing, which was the only reason she hadn't granted him the pain that he was practically asking for.

"Yes, My Lady," he said with gritted teeth.

"As you have already done so, however," Mary said, "you may tell me what you uncovered. In the future, I will not take so kindly to your rogue operations."

"Yes, My Lady." He visibly took a moment to psych himself up before continuing. "They spent most of the time discussing patents. But a fact came up during the conversation- Evans claimed that he had won the most recent European Dueling Championship."

"Is that all?" she asked, not having to fake the look of boredom.

"Well . . ." Avery said. "Yes. But this is even further reason for you to recruit him or get rid of him, My Lady!"

"Did I ask for your opinion?" she hissed. "Did I ask you to trail someone who could defeat you with a wave of his wand, someone who, based on the skills of his which you waxed lyrical about, is intelligent enough to prove an issue if he notices you following him? Did I ask for you to risk everything for a tidbit that I was already aware of? Did you not believe that I was keeping up with current affairs and possible fighters for the cause? Do you think I'm stupid, Marcus?"

"No, My Lady," he said, head bowed and previous excitement gone. "I just thought-"

"You didn't think." She sighed. "Next time, think before you act, Marcus. You cannot ruin everything that we have worked for simply because of a whim, because of an illogical obsession. You are affianced, are you not? I doubt that Lyra would take so kindly to you stalking a man." Her tone had shifted from exasperated to teasing half-way through and resistance to her commands was now the last thing on Avery's mind.

"No, My Lady," he stammered. "That's not- I wasn't . . . Lyra's the only one for me!"

She gave him a skeptical look, mirroring what she was feeling on the inside. She wasn't quite inclined to believe him, considering his consistent inability to meet her eyes. He took it a bit differently, however.

"I'm not in to men!" Avery shouted. He paled a moment after and glanced around wildly, sighing in relief when he didn't hear anything from the next room over.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that she had removed the silencing charm a moment before his yell, putting it up an instant after he was quiet once again. Mary had been anticipating some sort of embarrassing and loud statement. She hadn't been disappointed. The Knights in the next room over wouldn't let this go for a while; if nothing else, her followers were at least valuable for entertainment purposes.

"Be that as it may," she said, still making sure to look skeptical. "Be glad that I am in a good mood, Marcus. I do not wish to punish you, but if you persist in your foolish decisions . . ."

She trailed off, letting the threat sit there.

"Yes, My Lady." Avery had such a profound look of relief. Sometimes she wondered how her 'followers' could be successful politicians, with how spineless they were in her presence. Then again, weren't all politicians spineless to a degree?

"You're dismissed," she said, waving a hand airily, as if she were ending a class.

He bowed, before exiting as quickly as he could. Akin to the students in said class, though rather more deferential.

Mary sighed. This wasn't the first time she had lamented the stupidity of her followers, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

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It was a particularly windy day in Hogsmeade. Harry was just glad he wasn't wearing a hat as he watched various light objects go sailing by. He didn't necessarily have any reason to be in Hogsmeade- he didn't have anything he needed to buy, he wasn't there on business, and he wasn't there for a long stretch of road to run on; he generally did his exercising inside or at least closer to home.

No, he was just in Hogsmeade for a walk. He hadn't expected it to be so windy and he probably should have just gone home and done something else, but his innate stubbornness pushed him forward. He'd wanted to go on a walk and he would go on a walk, even if he had to brave a sleet storm; which he luckily didn't . . . yet.

He growled as a newspaper section flew into his face. He peeled it off and saw that it was the front page to the Daily Prophet. Out of curiosity, he started reading. Twenty seconds later, he nearly dropped the newspaper.

He couldn't be that lucky, right?

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 **A/N:** Next chapter, things get a lot more fun. For me, especially, but hopefully for you, the readers, as well.

No, Riddle's not going mad nearly as quickly as Avery believes. She just enjoys teasing her followers a bit too much; not usually in a nice, friendly way.

Little bit of a cliffhanger there, yes. It seemed the best place to end the chapter.

Anyone who thinks this relationship is going to be quick or that Riddle is going to be having . . . catfights . . . with a woman twenty six years younger- note the fact that Harry's just turned twenty four and Riddle is twenty two- is . . . not quite thinking things through. That is in direct response to one of the reviews- I didn't make it up.

Mary is the name of Riddle's paternal grandmother. I assume, that in canon, since Merope is mentioned to be not quite a squib and since she was so sure about Tom's gender . . . well, I assume she had some sort of spell to determine it. It can't have been a very difficult one. And Merope doesn't have any known female relatives, so it's likely she still would use Marvolo as the middle name. If she didn't have the aforementioned spell and just assumed Tom's gender, getting it right because she was lucky . . . well, she's a bigger idiot than I thought. For the purposes of the story, she actually did have such a spell and chose the name of Tom Riddle Sr's mother. A little research and logical thinking would have revealed the name, but everyone in the reviews seemed set on making the name exotic, complicated, and/or meaningless. Is Tom an exotic or lengthy name? If you think the answer's yes . . . I have nothing to say to you.

If you enjoyed the chapter, and consequently, the story overall, please favorite and follow. Also, don't hesitate to review with questions, concerns, thoughts, critiques, etc.


	3. A New Job

**Solve the Riddle**

 **Summary** : Harry's in the past. There is no 'Lord' Voldemort. However, if Harry expects things to be easier just because he's older and Riddle's younger, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Harry's never been one for giving up, but neither has Riddle, and as they both are forced to work together- in more ways than one- the stakes slowly change. [Time travel, Dimensional travel, fem!Riddle]

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter because I wasn't born earlier enough to write it and I'm not rich enough to buy the rights.

 **Chapter Three: A New Job**

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 **August 17, 1949**

"You are here for the Charms position." Armando Dippet stared at Harry, looking rather imposing with his stern frown and piercing gaze. It wasn't like Dumbledore's, where you felt like you were being x-rayed. Instead, it made Harry feel as if Dippet was going to cut him in half with laser vision at any moment.

"Yes, Sir," Harry replied.

"It wasn't a question," Dippet said.

Harry wisely chose to not to respond that time.

"Your qualifications are above average NEWTs and a dueling championship."

Harry nodded in response.

"However," Dippet said, "you were homeschooled. What guarantee do you have that you are able to handle a structured curriculum?"

"I can perform any of the required spells, any of the spells in any of the Standard Book of Spells series. I can also-"

Dippet held up a hand and Harry stopped talking. "I did not ask how proficient you are in charms. An Outstanding score on your NEWT generally indicates that you are fairly competent in that regard. I am asking what puts you ahead of any other applicants. Hogwarts is a prestigious school, and we accept only the best."

"I understand that, Sir," Harry said. "I'm a dueling champion."

"Which is no proof at all," Dippet said, shaking his head. "I have not observed professional dueling in over a century. You could have transfigured your opponents into toads to win, or you might have used a curse to give them crippling indigestion. Your title does not speak for your charms skills, Mr. Evans. And even if it did, we are talking about your ability to teach a large number of students in a structured course."

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked, growing frustrated. "Hogwarts is the only formal Wizarding school for all of the United Kingdom. There's nowhere else I could have gotten experience, aside from a nearly as prestigious school in a different country."

"I am not looking for you to already be perfect," Dippet said. "I am looking for knowledge- experience can come later."

"I know how to teach a structured course," Harry said. "If it's knowledge you want, quiz me!"

"Very well," Dippet said. "However, I have neither the time, nor the patience, to conduct your examination."

"Then who will?" Harry asked.

Dippet frowned at him, possibly even more harshly than before. "Patience is a virtue, young man. Had you simply waited another thirty seconds, you would know, without needing to look like a fool."

Harry chose not to point out that Dippet had just said that his own patience was limited, and that he didn't really have the right to be scolding Harry about the exact same thing.

A second later, there was a knock on the office doors.

"Come in!" Dippet called.

The door creaked open, and a man sidled through before shutting it. He turned around and it was all Harry could do not to gasp. It was a younger Dumbledore, practically identical to the one he'd seen in the older Dumbledore's memories, as well as the one in Tom's diary. He quickly schooled his face and hoped that Dumbledore would simply take his shock as being because he recognized Dumbledore as the vanquisher of Grindelwald.

It was his old Headmaster in all his glory, except for the fact that Dumbledore wasn't quite so old here, and his hair was still auburn. Boy, that was gonna take some getting used to. Logically, he'd known that by applying for a position here, he was going to run into Dumbledore. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon, and there was also the fact that seeing was believing.

"You called, Headmaster?" Dumbledore said politely.

"Dumbledore," Dippet said. "This young man is applying for the Charms post. Unfortunately, he's not had any formal schooling; homeschooled, you know how it is. So, I need to you to examine him, in whatever fashion you prefer. Judge his suitability towards teaching a structured course. As always, I trust your judgement."

"Very well, Headmaster," Dumbledore said, inclining his head. Dumbledore waved his hand in a follow-me motion, evidently aimed at Harry. He got up to follow the older wizard, taking a glance back at the current Headmaster as he left the office and seeing the old man already back to whatever he'd been working on before Harry had entered.

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Mary sighed as she stared at the head floating in her fireplace. "Yes, Rufus? What is it?"

Lestrange's eyes still showed the same fear that they had since the incident two months earlier, but he soldiered on nonetheless. "It's Avery, My Lady."

'Of course it is,' she thought, sighing again.

"What has he done now?" she asked.

"He asked me to find someone for him, My Lady." Lestrange cringed back when she frowned harshly.

"This someone wouldn't happen to be a man by the name of Harry Evans, would it?" Mary asked.

"Er, yes, My Lady," Lestrange said. "He said that he hadn't been able to find the person in two days of searching."

"And he asked you to scry for him," Mary finished. "You always were talented at Divination, Rufus."

"Thank you, My Lady," he said, smirking faintly. No doubt he would be bragging about the praise around the rest of her Knights for the next week, at least. It was pathetic how much like little children they were, vying for a scrap of attention. "I was unable to find him, however, indicating that he is behind above average wards."

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Yes, My Lady," Lestrange said.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Rufus," she said. Giving out the praise, even for an insignificant thing, cost her nothing and significantly increased Lestrange's loyalty. "Tell everyone else that Avery is not to be assisted further in his harebrained scheme. I am busy at the moment and cannot be bothered to deal with more of his reckless attempts at spying."

"Yes, My Lady," Lestrange repeated.

"You may go," she said. Lestrange's head was gone a second later and she slumped back in her chair with a sigh.

Avery's scheme was an exhausting thing to deal with. Could he not understand that his spying was pointless? Harry Evans was a dueling champion and had his NEWTs. That did not automatically make him her greatest enemy. No, that was still Dumbledore.

What it did make him was adept at all sorts of spells and he no doubt knew that Avery was tracking him. If anyone ruined everything, it would be Avery- not Harry Evans.

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"Harry Evans," Dumbledore said.

Dumbledore was sitting at the desk in what was presumably his office, while Harry was sitting in a chair on the other side. Dumbledore's chair, of course, was rather more ornate than his own, as well as obviously more comfortable. When he'd still been in school, Harry would have believed that Dumbledore simply liked cushy chairs. Now, he was more inclined to think that it was an intimidation tactic.

No, his view of Dumbledore hadn't been affected at all by his knowledge of the man's decision to sacrifice him. Not one tiny bit. Not one.

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry replied. He kept his face blank even as he felt like giggling on the inside. His inner giggling was from a combination of nervousness, relief, and the humor he felt at subtly sassing someone who he'd always looked up to; even when he'd felt utterly betrayed by the man, he had still held him in high regard.

"You've applied to the Charms position?"

"Yes." He'd been tempted to say something along the lines of 'that's what they tell me,' but Harry knew this wasn't the time for jokes. Well, it probably could have been if he'd known Dumbledore better, or as the case may be, Dumbledore knew him better. But Dumbledore didn't, so the point was moot.

"I have no doubt that the Headmaster has already listed your rather average list of qualifications."

What was this? Beat up on your friendly neighborhood time traveler day? He'd only had a year to build up a resumé! Admittedly, he hadn't done all that much, but he also hadn't expected this job opening and more importantly, he'd been dealing with the emotional and practical repercussions of being in a new place without any form of identity.

"Yes," he said shortly.

"What do you believe is your best charm?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward.

"But," Harry said, "the-"

"-Headmaster told you that your NEWT was enough regarding your competency, correct?" Dumbledore finished Harry's sentence for him.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Headmaster Dippet is a . . . stern man," Dumbledore said. "Not so surprising, when you consider his age and life experience. But he sometimes looks too much at statistics and too little at actual people."

Obvious frustration flashed across Dumbledore's face before the man caught himself and regained his former slightly cheerful expression. It was too late though- Harry had definitely seen it, and was wondering what had caused it. From what he'd seen in his sixth year private lessons, he'd assumed that Dumbledore and Dippet had been on good terms. Had he been wrong?

And Dumbledore almost never looked visibly frustrated. Had Dumbledore just been more prone to expressing his emotions when he was younger? Harry discarded the train of thought, figuring that he'd probably find out later, most likely by complete accident. As ridiculous as leaving it up to chance sounded, it was even more ridiculous how often the strategy worked out for him.

"Ah," Harry said, feeling the need to interject something but really having no idea what to say to Dumbledore's uncharacteristic grumbling.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "quite. On that note, if you could possibly perform your best charm for me . . .?"

"By best, you mean . . ." Harry prompted.

"Your most powerful," Dumbledore said. "The one you're most proficient at. Your most useful charm. Your personal favorite, even. What do you believe defines 'best?'"

"Got it," Harry said, nodding to show he understood. He had his wand out in a flash and a second later, a silvery stag shot out the end, starting at a gallop but slowing to a trot an instant later as it searched for enemies. It turned around to face Harry, who waited a moment longer before dispelling it.

"A corporeal patronus," Dumbledore said mildly. "Very impressive. When did you learn?"

"I was thirteen," Harry said.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Is that so? That's quite a feat. Is there any particular reason you learned so early?"

"I was visiting someone in Azkaban," Harry said smoothly. "I had a poor reaction to the Dementors. My parents were murdered when I was one, you see, and the Dementors dredged up those memories. I can still remember their deaths clearly to this day. A blessing and a curse, really."

His answer had been one part lie and five parts truth. It had also been rather clipped, but that had been because he still didn't like even thinking about his parents' deaths, not because he was trying to form a more elaborate ruse.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Dumbledore said, actually looking apologetic.

Harry felt the urge to groan and put his head in his hands. It was hard to hate Dumbledore even when he was being professional; blatant reminders that Dumbledore was generally a good, moral person weren't helping him hold his grudge. It had been so much easier when the only way of communicating to Dumbledore was through a portrait that only contained a facsimile at best, and an impostor at worst. Harry had never really decided on what he believed about wizarding portraits, despite the many theories and opinions that went around.

"It's fine," Harry said. He laughed, though it came out a bit flat. "I'm over it, mostly."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said, though he didn't offer further thoughts.

"Is there anything else I should do?" Harry asked when Dumbledore didn't seem inclined to continue the conversation. "Like maybe figure out a brief lesson plan or something like that?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "That won't be necessary. Anything you came up with now wouldn't be your best work or even a viable lesson plan, bereft as you are of the source material or even an example from a previous year. It would also take quite long. Unless you have an exceptional memory?" He peered over his glasses at Harry.

"Merlin, no," Harry said. His laugh was more genuine this time. "I wish, though. So, any other charms you want me to showcase?"

"I do not believe so," Dumbledore said. "In fact, I believe this interview is complete."

"Huh?" Harry said eloquently. That was it? But they'd talked for about five minutes and Harry had only showcased one spell. What? Wait, had he failed some kind of pre-test hidden in the conversation?

"That will be all, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore smiled at him. "You will receive an owl no later than the nineteenth."

"Wait," Harry said. "Is that if I get chosen only?"

"If you don't, as well," Dumbledore said, chuckling. "It would be a rather poor joke to simply keep you in suspense, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah." Harry was relieved to have gotten that guarantee. He'd assumed that the school was professional enough to do that, but it was nice to know for sure.

Dumbledore led the way back to the castle doors before turning around to face Harry once again. He held out his hand to shake. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Evans."

"You too, Professor," Harry said, grasping his hand and shaking it. They both dropped the handshake and turned different directions almost at the same time. Dumbledore strode, Harry presumed, towards the Headmaster's office to report to Dippet. Harry jogged in the opposite direction, disapparating the moment he left the ward boundaries.

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 **August 19, 1949**

Harry stared at the letter in his hand, absentmindedly feeding the screech owl a piece of bacon.

Well, this was it. This letter would tell him whether he was currently a Hogwarts Professor or a deadbeat. He wouldn't necessarily care about being a deadbeat, but being a professor at his alma mater was infinitely more preferable.

There was just a sense of, 'Haha, I assign the homework now, suckers,' when he thought of teaching at Hogwarts. Being employed at the school would also help establish his position in society, as well as get him closer to Dumbledore. He was still a bit pissed at the man, but that didn't change the fact that Dumbledore was a very powerful, very influential wizard who he definitely wanted on his side.

Going against Dumbledore . . . Harry shuddered at the thought. Even thinking of going against an older, dying Dumbledore was inconceivable. Facing the man in his prime, when he'd just defeated Grindelwald? Sure, his copy of the Deathstick would counter Dumbledore's, but even on his best day, he could never be sure of pulling out a victory over the man.

He shook his head to clear it. There was no point thinking about that right now. If all went well, he wouldn't have to worry about that at all.

He opened the envelope, taking a deep breath before unfolding the parchment inside.

Harry stared at the actual writing for a second before celebrating with a quick fist pump and a hissed "Yes!"

To some people, being a professor at Hogwarts was just a job. To others, it was a prestigious position and something to be sought after above all else. To even more still, it was a target of hatred and fondness in turn, largely depending on the homework load and subject material. To Harry, it was a means to an end, a way to ensure that his friends- and if he could swing it, the entire wizarding world as well- were much better off than last time.

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 **August 22, 1949**

Harry gingerly pushed open the doors of the staffroom. It wasn't his first time in the room, but considering the last time was when he was a second year and hiding from the teachers in a wardrobe . . . he didn't exactly have the clearest memory of the room.

The room was large, larger than any of the classrooms for sure. It was paneled and dark wooden chairs were arrayed all around the room. Of course, many of these chairs were taken up by the various professors who had arrived before him. He was still ten minutes early; he hadn't wanted to risk being late. First impressions were everything, after all.

Being a Hogwarts professor was a new experience, and it was subsequently very exciting for him. In fact, it was probably the most exciting thing he'd done in close to two years.

Somehow, even knowing that it would be the case, he was surprised at seeing a room full of mostly unfamiliar professors. The only one he recognized was Slughorn, and even then only just barely; this younger Slughorn still had his original hair color and his girth wasn't quite so eye catching. Apparently Dumbledore wasn't there yet. He had no idea if anyone else was missing, considering the fact that he couldn't tell the custodian from the nurse at the moment.

Harry glanced around the room for a second, wondering what to do. There seemed to be no particular order to who was sitting where, or who was even sitting. On his second pass, he saw Slughorn waving him over. With a quick look around to make sure that it was him that Slughorn was signaling, he made his way over.

He pasted a cheerful smile on his face. "Harry Evans."

"Horace Slughorn, my dear boy." Slughorn was just as overly amiable as ever. Hopefully, there would be no surprises here; Harry hadn't really had any chance to figure out why Dumbledore seemed at odds with Dippet, but he was still a bit put off by it. "You must be the new Charms Master, eh?"

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, holding out his his hand. He vaguely remembered learning something about how he should let someone with more experience in a shared job offer their own hand first, but he doubted Slughorn would care much. And he wasn't completely sure of his remembrance anyway.

Slughorn gripped it firmly with one his own, shaking it firmly twice before letting go. "A pleasure."

"Right," Harry said. "Where should I sit, by the way? I can't help but notice that there doesn't seem to be any particular order, but if there is, I don't want to mess anything up . . ."

He was probably being rude by forgoing small talk, but it wasn't like they'd have much time for it anyways, what with the staff meeting being in just barely over five minutes.

"Not to worry," Slughorn said. "There are hardly any rules regarding our seating arrangements. Of course, the headmaster always sits against the back wall, with Dumbledore next to him- you have met Dumbledore, haven't you?"

Harry nodded.

"Good, good," Slughorn said, nodding slightly before leaning towards Harry as his voice dropped in volume. "Well, between you and me, Dumbledore and Dippet . . . well, their interactions have seemed a bit strained for a while now. Not to say it's affected their efficiency at all. No, those two have always been very good about scheduling and the like." At least Harry now knew that he hadn't been the only one to notice it. Which would have been strange, because some of the teachers here were bound to know the Dumbledore of this time far better than he did.

Well, it looked like he wasn't exactly being given a choice on the issue of small talk. Might as well take advantage of it. "Strained? Why, though? I mean, I seem to recall Dippet saying something to Dumbledore along the lines of, 'as usual, I'll trust your judgement,' when he was telling Dumbledore to judge me for the position." This could be his chance to figure out what exactly was going on with his old headmaster at the moment.

"Ah, well . . ." Slughorn said, clearly uncomfortable sharing more. Dumbledore had probably either told him about the situation in confidence or Slughorn had uncovered something on his own that made him uncomfortable to share.

"It's fine," Harry said, holding his hands up placatingly. "I was just curious." Not true in the slightest. Harry was sure he could defeat Slughorn in a duel ten times out of ten, but the man was wily, and more importantly, a genuinely good person at heart. Harry just didn't want him as an enemy. Really, he didn't want anyone as his enemy at the moment aside from Voldemort and the current Death Eaters. And he'd no doubt find out what was up sooner or later, now that he was a professor.

Slughorn still looked a bit uncomfortable. After a noticeable pause, he started talking again. "Harry Evans . . . you're the most recent European Dueling Champion, aren't you?" Slughorn plastered on an expression of dawning comprehension, convincing enough that if Harry wasn't ninety nine percent sure Slughorn had known who he was before he stepped into the room, he might have been fooled.

"That's me," Harry said, smiling amiably. The expression was faked, of course. Just because he'd gotten used to flaunting his fame when required didn't mean he liked doing it any more than he had as a teenager.

"Ah," Slughorn said, leaning back. "I thought so, but I wasn't sure. One of my old students, you see-"

He paused, glancing at the door. Harry listened carefully and could soon make out two voices. One sounded like Dumbledore and the other, though it took Harry a moment to place him, was definitely Dippet.

"Well, it looks like we're going to have to cut this conversation short," Slughorn said, chuckling.

Harry hummed in agreement, listening to the voices. They came ever closer, and as they did, Harry could make out a third voice. The third didn't contribute much to the conversation, which seemed to revolve mostly around the overall class schedule. The third person was definitely a woman, he decided as he heard her speak again.

Dumbledore and Dippet strode into the room. When their more reticent conversation partner trailed in after them, Harry's breath caught.

It wasn't because she was beautiful, though she certainly was. No, he'd determined that hours before he'd had sex with her. But she'd been a total airhead then, which left two options. Either she was the custodian and didn't need any form of intelligence- not likely; the custodian was never attractive, which was a self-explanatory rule of life- or she'd played him for a fool.

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". . . and remember to return to the castle by September twenty ninth at the latest," Dippet finished. "That will be all. You may go."

Harry got up from his chair, standing there for a moment as his mind spun with the implications of the recent development. What was that woman's deal? Was she some Death Eater he hadn't known about? To be fair, it wasn't like he'd researched much before getting flung into the past.

Maybe it had nothing to do with Death Eaters or Voldemort and she just enjoyed acting like a ditz during the summer? . . . For hours on end? No, that wasn't it. Hmmm . . .

He spun around as he felt a hand tap him on the shoulder. Speak of the devil! He put on a smile, to be polite, when he saw who it was.

"Hello," the woman- Mary- said, "I'm Mary, in case you didn't remember. Mary Riddle. I apologize if I bored you that night at the party. I wasn't exactly at my best." His smile froze.

"Harry Evans," he heard himself say. "But you knew that already, of course. And the party . . . it's fine. I don't generally go to them in order to have stimulating conversation. So no harm done, really."

"Just wanted to clear that up," Mary said, smiling. "Guess I'll see you around, Evans." She gave a small wave, which he returned on auto pilot, before turning around and leaving a moment later.

Harry groaned, putting a hand to his forehead to stave off his burgeoning headache.

"Why me?" he muttered to himself. "What did I do to deserve this?"

As usual, there was no answer.

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 **A/N:** Well, there you go.

That chapter was a bit difficult to write. I had to characterize Dippet, who is practically a nonentity in canon. I really hope I got Dumbledore and Slughorn right. They're established characters, yes, but I have to write them a lot younger, using sparse information from memories in HBP as my base.

Riddle's a professor? What?

Well, I did ask people to consider what might have changed because of Riddle being female. I think one big thing would be Dippet. He's like three hundred and fifty years old, so he grew up in a different time. In a time where women were even less respected, and almost always written off as simple homemakers. I think that, even if he changed with the times, which there's no evidence of, he would still be a bit biased, and possibly, more inclined to write off the majority of Dumbledore's concerns about Riddle. He would dismiss the danger more because she's a woman.

 **A/N Edit:** I'm already getting negative reviews about this, so I feel the need to add a bit more of an explanation on my thoughts and reasoning.

The magical world generally mirrors the muggle world in many capacities- that's a fact as far as I can tell. Purebloods also seem to value their heirs a lot, and I highly suspect that for a long time in the past, pureblood women- at least- were coddled and advised to not do anything in any way dangerous, because of that. There's also the fact that the wiki says that Dippet is traditional. Traditional people in the magical world are generally purebloods and I'm inclined to believe that Dippet, at some point, held the same values I mentioned above. Of course, I could be completely wrong.

Dippet was born in 1637. The first female minister of magic was elected in 1798. Prior to that, there had been no female ministers. From that, I can infer that women gained basic equality around a time close to sixteen decades after Dippet's birth. Far more than enough time for him to soak up the traditions of the time and gain some lingering prejudices.

But I don't have JKR here to answer all of my questions. I don't have all the facts. To even produce my desired setting, some things need to be certain ways. I'm using my inferences as explanations for why I did what I did; I would have had events play out the same way regardless, but if I hadn't used the gender difference as the factor, I certainly would have pulled some even greater BS out of my ass. So be thankful that there's actually a somewhat reasonable explanation behind the changes- before Harry came along, Riddle's gender was the For Want of a Nail event in this dimension and literally the only difference; anything else that's changed is because of that. But the changes, while all things that I believe could logically have happened, are also for me to choose. There is no dimensional calculator that tells me exactly what would have changed with no exceptions. Following the multiverse theory, there is no one set path. If you, even after seeing the evidence that swayed me, don't believe that the route I had the dimension take is plausible, feel free to tell me your concerns.

I doubt I'll change it, seeing as I have no other ideas on how things would have changed enough for Riddle to become a Hogwarts professor when Voldemort didn't in canon. If you have another, logical, reasonable idea, let me know. If I like it, I'm not averse to changing the author's notes here, which are the only things that actually explain the reasoning behind the difference. Note that the author's notes contain my reasoning, but they aren't part of the story itself. You could consider them non-canon, because despite the fact that I'm listing my reasoning and theories here, you're entirely free to attribute the changes to something else. It's not stated anywhere in the fic itself that the change is actually due to what I speculated.

 **End of Edit**

This also explains Dumbledore's frustration with Dippet, who, for once, decided to almost completely ignore Dumbledore's advice. In canon, Dippet is very fond of Riddle. I think that, as a girl, Riddle could exploit that even further, using Dippet's innate prejudices to get what she wants. More of the situation will be explained further along in the story. Of course, this is all relying on speculation and theory, but I'm feeling pretty confident.

Well, as I said, Harry and Riddle are going to be forced into constant close proximity. This is gonna be fun.

If you enjoyed the chapter, and hopefully, the rest of the fiction, don't hesitate to favorite and follow to show your support and keep track of updates, respectively. If you have anything you want to say explicitly, feel free to review, whether it's a compliment, criticism, or something in between.


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